The days which followed were filled with blissfully humdrum events. For Richard, they involved the digging of a new well, the repairing of damaged pathways, and many other tasks of hard labour. For Mary, they were filled with the mending of clothes, the baking of bread, and, once her skills were known, with the keeping of books and teaching a few local children. All these came with a warm room, kind hosts, and good food.
Yet, though Richard had sent a letter to Mr. Darcy on the first available mail coach, the wait proved slow, even painful when Mary allowed her thoughts too much room. Her bliss easily morphing into fear as the unease of stepping outside alone, where those who hunted them might hide, felt crushing in its strength and forced her to press beyond her fears simply to walk down the growingly familiar streets.
Her other fears, of her family’s reputation being tarnished, or of how a woman considered ruined might never marry a man such as Richard, were equally untenable, though the quiet rhythm of life with the Johnsons and her faith did often ease her worries. For all that fear sought to burden, she had determined she would not be beaten.
Such determination led her to make it her habit to take food and drink to wherever Richard found himself working each day, and though her eyes kept darting this way and that, with each time she made her way unaccompanied, she found that her courage rose. Little by little at first, then more, until, after the better part of a week, her darting gaze no longer came from fear of every noise or shadow, but the simple practicality of knowing she may be followed or taken if not wary–as Richard took weapons with him, so she took a great deal of caution and a rather large knife.
“Richard!” she called, the urge to add an endearment narrowly curbed.
“I had nearly given up on seeing your lovely face,” he answered, his smile wide, “I hope it was something pleasant which kept you, darling.”
Calm yourself,she warned her heart as it leapt at his words.It is for show. It always is… even if the men are too far to hear today, it is for show. Yes?
Basket raised, she watched her footing as she explained, “One of the children scraped his knee or I would have brought you this sooner.”
Pulling himself up from the pit he had been digging, Richard’s shoulders rose and fell as his attention turned to his soiled clothes before returning to her. “I am afraid I am a sorry sight, though I hope you will still sit with me and eat?”
With a nod she handed him the basket, her eyes lingering on him as he pulled out a pork pie.
Handsome. Incredibly so without his beard, the strong line of his jaw exposed and his smile somehow more pleasing than it had been before. Were it possible, she might look upon his face forever… be with him forever.
Ducking her head as his questioning gaze met hers, Mary prayed Mr. Darcy would provide a way home for them soon–if only to spare her from the closeness. To cut the bond between them before she could allow it to grow any stronger. To save her from a fabricated reality she wished might continue.
“Is something the matter?” Richard asked, concern laced within.
“No,” Mary smiled, the motion painful, “nothing is the matter. Here, let me have one of those pies, or do you plan to eat them all?”
∞∞∞
Holding the basket on her arm as she made her way back to the Johnson’s, Mary’s lips lifted as she recalled the way Richard had swiped his finger over her cheek at some small speck or other.
‘She ought to guard her heart,’her practical self told her, the precious days spent playing his wife soon to come to an end, and yet, a far stronger and much less cautious voice spoke louder. ‘Enjoy every minute. Carry every memory. Love might yet find a way.’
A pity the second voice was rife with sensibility, she could use a bit of good sense about now.
A prickling on the back of her neck stilling her, Mary recalled the last time she had known such a feeling.The narrow alley. The man jumping from behind those barrels. She had known something wrong, but had acted on it too late.
Seeing nothing, though trusting herself, Mary drew her knife, the area silent save the noise of a soft breeze.She ought tohave accepted Richard’s offer to see her home. Yet, surely,she thought as she narrowed her eyes to peer between two houses,they could not have found them already?Shaking her head, she frowned as she continued toward the Johnsons’.She was not going to wait to find out.
“Miss Marrryyy,” a familiar voice trilled from up ahead, “Marrryyy.”
The warmth dissipating from her body, she gripped her knife tighter;Ian had found her.
Viewing Ian then the empty road behind her, Mary chose the latter, sprinting as hard and fast as she might, the sound of footfalls behind urging her on.
Lungs burning, Mary forced herself to scream for help, the action painful though she pressed on, the sound of raised voices ahead soft at first before heightening in intensity.
“Help!” she yelled again, her chest fit to burst and legs trembling beneath her.
Pace beginning to slow, Mary felt Ian’s hand grasp at her clothing before slipping away, her fear pressing her onward and faster.
“Richard!” she cried as his form and those of a half a dozen men appeared in the distance, the footfalls behind her veering away, though she would not risk looking back.
The men racing toward her, within moments they were standing by her side, her breath coming fast and erratic as she looked for Richard’s face.
“Richard,” she breathed at last as he appeared before her, his fingers first taking the knife from her hand before wrapping her in his arms.
“Are you alright?” he asked, the firm grip of his embrace providing her with a renewed sense of well-being. “Did they?”
